


If You Feel Like I Feel

by yormgen



Series: Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crushes, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, can be read as a stand-alone, obligatory akira loves everyone fic, the rest of the party are starting to get bold about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yormgen/pseuds/yormgen
Summary: "It suits you; coffee and flowers. What a romantic aesthetic."Akira audibly chokes on nothing, his own breath maybe, and hears Morgana chuckle at him from his bag on the shelf.





	If You Feel Like I Feel

**Author's Note:**

> [Please let me know that it's real, you're just too good to be true.](https://youtu.be/fgj7UUGSFsM)

"Aki-kun," Haru decides to call him one day. She's standing behind the counter at Leblanc with him, while he decides on a brew for Makoto. "Would you show me how to use the coffee siphon again?"

 

It always takes him a minute to process and fluster over it, like Makoto had under the same circumstance. Akira ultimately just smiles and says, "Of course. Go ahead and start heating the water on the stove, first."

 

Haru knows that it's a little embarrassing for all of them, the endearments she gives them. But they all know what it's like, finally having an outlet for all of the intimate affection that can build up from going through life alone. She's still so hesitant with what she wants, with asking for anything, and it always makes Akira want to give her the world. Haru had no misgivings about her privileged upbringing, but Akira isn't convinced that Haru had ever really been given anything she wanted in her entire life.

 

Haru's affection is so harmless, sweet and selfless in a way that's still new to all of them. None of them could deny this little thing she wanted, to have something intimate and casual with people she trusts. They could deal with how her pet-names made them blush, for her.

 

Haru connects the siphon's hopper to the glass bulb, just like Akira shows her. "Once I get the hang of this, you'll taste-test my brews too, won't you Mako-chan?" She takes Akira's arm, quietly asking for further instruction. "It might not be as good as the ones Aki-kun makes."

 

From her seat at the bar, Makoto grins. "You two will have me so spoiled at this rate. I can't remember the last time I paid for my own coffee."

 

The rest of Akira's friends probably hadn't been expected to pay for anything they ate or drank in Leblanc for months. Makoto and Haru were the only ones to try and contest this, which only endeared them to Sojiro.

 

Early on, Akira had reasoned with Makoto that the coffee was his way of paying her back for the late nights she'd spend sorting out notes and palace maps with him. Akira had done his best with the more strategic side of infiltration planning before she had joined them, but he'd always been the type to move instinctively over logistically. Makoto was a godsend as an adviser.

 

Eventually, Makoto's visits to Leblanc weren't always just about the Phantom Thieves. She visits with the others on days off, and sometimes on her own, to read or study somewhere other than the school library, to enjoy his company. He likes feeling like he could do something for her, it's why Akira follows her on her research trips, after Eiko, to Shinjuku. It's why Akira likes to slip her a mug, knowing Sojiro would never mind keeping it full for as long as she stays.

 

Akira grinds the beans he chooses for today particularly fine and watches Haru carefully light the flame under the water bulb. "It's the least I can do," he says. "You do a lot for everyone."

 

Makoto gives him a very fond look, and it makes him feel very warm.

 

 

 

Something about watching Futaba come into her own fills Akira with so much pride he’s sometimes worried he’ll burst.

 

He never tries to ask too much of her, not because he thinks she can’t handle it but because he trusts her to know her limits best, and she still always exceeds his wildest expectations. He remembers that awe for her he’d had when she first managed to spend an hour thriving alone in the bustle of Akihabara. He remembers that awe hitting him again like a smack to the face when she told him that she’d reconnected with her friend Kana, that she’d gotten as far as talking face-cam to face-cam without any masks or distortions to give her security.

 

She blows off his praises, although she knows better than to ever think he would patronize her, as something she’d have to get used to sooner or later. But Akira thinks about what it would be like, having to relearn over two years’ worth of skills that already didn’t come naturally in only four months.

 

Akira doesn’t think it’s particularly fair to grade either of their abilities on some neurotypical scale of proficiency anyway, as if that were the most pressing standard they had to aim for. He still feels as though he’s recovering socially from the points in time between his arrest and meeting Ryuji; he still tenses at the prolonged eye contact with any unfamiliar adult, still blanking at any unprecedented conversations with Shujin students who didn’t know him. He wasn’t raised in the types of social atmospheres Futaba is trying to acclimate herself to now either, but they had both supposed he had the stronger natural adaptability to act as her mentor when it came to being around scary people.

 

Futaba marches up the steps to Akira’s room, head held high, arms full of bags of snacks from the local convenience store that she’d bought all on her own. “Listen,” she tells him, eyes shining, “Ann told me once that sometimes if she twirled her hair and smiled at the cashier while he scanned her snacks, she’d sometimes get a discount.” She dumps her spoils on his work desk and tosses him a bag of veggie chips. “I couldn’t keep eye contact with the cashier too long, it started to freak me out. But I kept smiling and twirling my hair. And guess what!” She didn’t wait for him to guess. “He pulled out a news ad and scanned some coupons for me! Men are so weak.”

 

She stretches her legs across his lap, so he reaches out to pat her head and she preens. _She’s really strong_ , he thinks. He wonders when he started looking up to her so much.

 

 

 

Yusuke, Akira worries, might be the most beautiful boy in the world, and Akira is desperately endeared by beautiful things.

 

Dealing with Madarame left Akira feeling protective of Yusuke, but not in any way he could call pity. Watching Yusuke pull himself through denial and into the steadfast, loyal determination that brought him Goemon was like watching a Phoenix rise from the ashes of everyone he wanted to avenge. Yusuke does everything he chooses to do very passionately, and Akira feels powerless to do anything but follow Yusuke’s whims, devoted. He was captivating, and Akira wanted to preserve Yusuke's fire with all he had.

 

It was so hard not to look at Yusuke, with his long legs and shiny hair and steady, elegant hands; he moved like a dancer and it was all so horribly distracting. And then, even harder to cope with was that silky voice, that would just _say_ whatever was on his mind, and leave Akira to deal with whatever strong feeling it pulls out of him in that particular moment.

 

"You really do look marvelous in an apron," Yusuke tells him at the flower shop, easily, as if making an objective statement about the weather. He apparently took a break from studying the roses to peer at Akira over his sketchbook with those dark, appraising eyes.

 

It's not the first time Yusuke has said this, but that doesn't stop Akira from smiling into his hand, flushed. "You know, Morgana says that too," Akira says lightly, adjusting the largest flowers in the bouquet he's arranging. "That I seem destined to be in an apron, whether it's for flowers or coffee."

 

Yusuke watches Akira tie off the bundle and nods, seemingly approving of his finished floral composition. 

 

"I concur," Yusuke says, not about the bouquet. "It suits you; coffee and flowers. What a romantic aesthetic."

 

Akira audibly chokes on nothing, his own breath maybe, and hears Morgana chuckle at him from his bag on the shelf. 

 

Yusuke doesn't seem to notice, and resumes sketching the roses, serene.

 

 

 

Akira doesn't necessarily hate the heat, but he doesn't thrive in it. 

 

His hair was heavy and thick, and he didn't own very much by way of shorts or t-shirts. Back in the country the summer was still dry and uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the extreme humidity of Tokyo, where it rains as often as it suns and everywhere you go is claustrophobic, congested with people.

 

Ryuji was alright with the heat, used to Tokyo, because he's always been adaptable like a stone accustom to the unending flow of a river. Sometimes, Akira thinks, Ryuji looks like he was built to thrive in pulsing summer weather, running enthusiastically through his sets with his golden hair and tanned skin. Akira would never tell him this, but Ryuji reminds him of a puppy, too motivated to keep exploring new things, too determined to keep pleasing to even process his own discomfort.

 

Akira remembers the first time he watched Ryuji fall to the ground in a laughing heap because his leg gave out on one of their jogs. "Dude, I almost beat you back!" He grinned while Akira fretted uselessly above him. He gripped his leg near his ankle and squeezed with a clear practice for settling these kinds of cramp-ups. "Next time remind me to stretch out better first, so I can really impress you."

 

Still, Akira and summer. Less adaptable and accepting.

 

Maybe he's being punished, Akira considers, pressed tight in the crowded subway between Ryuji and Ann. They tend to end up something like this whenever they ride the train together, usually Ryuji and Akira surrounding Ann to fend off potential gropers. 

 

Today, it was as if the entirety of Shibuya had made the joint decision that instead of walking anywhere the sun could touch them, they needed to travel specifically by this subway car. They had managed to squeeze in so that Ann could press her back to the door, Akira following her, and Ryuji unceremoniously shoved by the rest of the crowd into Akira's back.

 

The air is so sticky and thick that Akira feels like he could swim through it if he could move at all. Ann and Ryuji seem much less bothered by it, but he knows comparatively that he'll never be as used to riding these lines as they must be by now.

 

The subway jerks and Akira loses his footing, stumbling into Ann. She catches him graciously, steadying him with a hand to his chest. "Here," she says, laughing at whatever expression he's making. She slides her hand from its grounding place on his chest to his shoulder and then wraps her hand around the straps on his bag. "Turn around and I can hold us both in place."

 

Grateful and too embarrassed to argue, Akira complies, careful not to step on anyone's foot as he shuffles to face Ryuji instead. 

 

Sometimes Akira forgets that he's so much taller than Ryuji, just like he sometimes forgets his love-hate relationship with Ryuji's stupid muscle tanks. He hates them on the principle of them being muscle tanks, which are as douchey as they are inefficient at being shirts. But from this angle the tank top shows so much of Ryuji’s toned chest and his strong arms, and because of those comically wide armholes, if he turned just right or tugged at his collar—

 

Ryuji is grinning up at him. "You're only all graceful in the Metaverse, huh?" He means the stumbling, Akira hopes. If Ryuji caught him staring he's being vague about it. "Don't worry, dude, Ann and I got you."

 

Akira never had a doubt.

 

 

 

Ann is like the human embodiment of sunshine. 

 

Akira had never seen so much warmth encompassing someone's entire personality, and then there was Ann, blindingly beautiful and relentlessly loving. Her passions, always focused on helping anyone but herself, were a force of nature, and ran like wildfire until she'd burned her way into the heart of everything she touched. If Haru's smile made flowers grow, Ann's made them bloom.

 

She sits next to Akira in the shade of Hachiko's statue, holding a crepe towards his mouth, determined. She's heard him say before that he's not very fond of desserts, but when Ann loves something dearly, like she does fashion, or Shiho, or sweets, it's beyond her to believe that everyone else shouldn't love them too.

 

"Trust me! I thought really hard about which flavor wouldn't be too much for you, and I found the perfect one!" She describes Akira's aversion to sugar like someone might describe a low alcohol tolerance. "You'll like it, I swear." She's close to pressing the whipped cream directly onto his face before he relents. 

 

It turns out that the whipped cream is actually sweetened cream cheese, and it tastes like lemon. For all intents and purposes, it's still a dessert, but it isn't cloying. The thoughtfulness behind the choice isn't lost on Akira.

 

He moves his hand to accept the crepe from her, but Ann pulls it away to take a bite herself. She makes a face, considering. "It's a good flavor, and since the cream cheese is so thick, the crepe isn't getting soggy. But I still think you're missing out on the chocolate ones." She licks at a dollop of the filling before it can spill out, then offers it back to him. She's holding it directly to his mouth, resolute to hand-feed him right in front of Hachiko and all of Shibuya.

 

Akira knows he's blushing when he leans in to take another bite.

 

 

 

"Morgana," Akira hisses into a pillow that night, curled up on his side. "I can't live like this. What should I do?"

 

Morgana sniffs petulantly beside him. "If you can't live with it, trade places with me. I want Lady Ann to feed me crepes too."

 

"It's not just Ann. I think they're all trying to kill me?"

 

Musing the conversations among the others that he was generally present for, Morgana considers telling Akira that he's not necessarily on the wrong track. "Have you tried telling them how you feel?"

 

Akira turns a rare glare on Morgana, which Morgana figures is fair enough. " _You_  elected me to be the responsible one. I'm not supposed to be getting distracted by my teammates touching my arm for too long." He sounds tormented, and he must be to have said that many words in one sitting. "How do you get over a crush on 6 people?"

 

Morgana specifically takes the time to make sure he sounds unsympathetic. He'll report this to Futaba later. "Hang in there, Akira."

**Author's Note:**

> the support and kind words for the previous part were more than i'd have ever imagined, i hope you could have fun reading this part too.
> 
> you all made me laugh a lot, saying morgana should be a better wingman for everyone; i hope you'll like the final part then. i just finished classes for the semester, so i hope to have the last part of this series to you soon! thank you again.
> 
> talk p5 to me on twitter ([@yyormgen](https://twitter.com/yyormgen)) or check out my other work on tumblr ([@tolbyccia](http://tolbyccia.tumblr.com/))


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